


The Golden Age

by landsail0r



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Romance, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4258884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landsail0r/pseuds/landsail0r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A charismatic stranger offers Dorian the escape from his family he's always dreamed of, but the exhilaration of running can only carry you so far. Inspired loosely by the album The Golden Age by Woodkid (hence the title.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in the cherry trees we're hiding from the world

All the windows were thrown open and a listless breeze ruffled the embroidered curtains, but the inside of the tower room was still disgustingly warm. Dorian propped his feet up on the sill, pushing his chair back on two legs and let out a groan of frustration. There were nine days left till Gereon Alexius returned from his coastal holiday and he hadn’t left Dorian with so much as a treatise to read while he was away. Dorian had thought of nothing but the fortnight-long break for the month leading up to it, but within two days he’d remembered that there was a very good reason he’d jumped at the chance to research under such an esteemed enchanter, and it wasn’t the thrill of academia.

It was that this place was so damn boring.

More than that, it was empty. Under the fine tapestries and the brocade jackets, buried beneath piles of fresh fruit and bottles of wine, there was a deep hollowness. It reminded him of the months before his aunt passed away, when her illness was spoken of only in whispers and brushed under the rug in polite conversation. After her death they’d moved the portrait of her as a young woman, all bright jewelry and delicate flush, to the main hall; yet no one said a word about the hollow cheeks and the sound of rattling breath so near in memory. Such things weren’t proper conversation. This place felt like it was built from lies, and sometimes when Dorian walked the halls at night he felt almost as if he could put his hand through a tapestry and find nothing but darkness behind. 

But he was dangerously close to becoming the same thing, an empty lie dressed up in fine silks. That was what the future held: strained smiles and empty promises, maybe a few children fathered by a man who looked enough like him for them to be believable. His father used the word “respectable” often, slipping it into dinner-table conversation and screaming it during every fight they had behind closed doors. When company was over it was all smiles and words of praise: the “perfect son,” a “worthy heir,” accomplished in the study of magic and clever enough for three. When they were alone, he was a disappointment. Selfish, of course, for privileging his own happiness over the reputation of the family, and contrarian for refusing to wed a woman even though it would be akin to shutting half of himself away to die.

Dorian could stay away from it most of the time by studying with Alexius; he’d begun to simply not come home for the holidays most of the time, preferring to stay at his workplace even over breaks. With Alexius and much of his household gone, however, Dorian hadn’t been able to invent a proper excuse to stay away, and so he was stuck back here again among the hollow memories of his youth. From his window he could see the stables where he’d kissed a stable boy at age thirteen, young and rebellious and full of ridiculous ideas about love. Next to it was the tree where the boy had been beaten that night for his transgressions; Dorian had watched from here, tears streaming silently down his face.

“It’s not just about you, Dorian,” his father had told him. “This hurts everyone. You must control yourself, for the good of us all.”

There was a knock at the door and Dorian very nearly tipped over backwards. Regaining some composure, he straightened his shirt collar and called “Come in?”

A slave woman opened the door. “Your father calls. He wants you to join him in the parlor to meet with a merchant—Callan Mastrel, I think? Not… like that, though.” She glanced at him, and he stared down peevishly at his rumpled white shirt and plain trousers.

“Right. Okay. Tell him I’ll be just a moment,” he said, turning to root through his closet for something vaguely appropriate. The door closed behind him.

 

Five minutes later he was hurrying down the stairs, finishing with the buttons on his vest. The heavy clothing made the heat even more distasteful, but it was still better than the dirty looks his father would have given him if he’d come down in yesterday’s clothes. He would have liked to shave, but there was no time for that.

The door to the parlor was already propped open and the sound of voices carried into the hall. He slowed his pace a few steps from the door and entered with slightly more dignity than he’d bothered with on his way down, smiling politely as the middle-aged man on the sofa stood to greet him.

“Dorian, this is Callan Mastrel, a representative of the Imperium-Fereldan Shipping Company. He’s here to discuss a possible partnership, since—as you know—we’ve been considering expanding our business into Fereldan for some time.”

Dorian tried not to let his confusion show on his face. That information must have been in one of those letters, but he hadn’t read more than a handful in the last year. Most of them were still sitting unopened in the bottom drawer of his research desk.

“It’s my pleasure,” Mastrel replied. He must have noticed as Dorian’s eyes turned to the much younger man next to the merchant on the sofa. “This is my son Marcus.”

Dorian nodded absently and took his place near his father. He’d long since perfected the art of looking at least somewhat engaged without paying any attention to the proceedings, and was just about to settle in to an extended reverie when he glanced up at the merchant’s son again. The young man was already looking at Dorian, and their eyes met for a second. He was a little fairer than Dorian, with warm brown curls that reached nearly to his shoulders and pale grey eyes, and was entirely more striking than Dorian had been prepared for.

Dorian looked away quickly, praying that the warmth in his cheeks wasn’t showing as a blush. It was ridiculous—he was too old to be blushing at boys across the coffee table. He was just being childish.

He tried to go back to ignoring the conversation, but for some reason it was much more difficult than before.

 

After ten minutes of nodding absently to the small talk and trying not to look back at the younger Mastrel, Dorian noticed the atmosphere in the room shift suddenly and attempted to focus back in on the conversation.

“… to discuss this in private. If you don’t mind?” asked the elder Mastrel.

Dorian caught a brief look of frustration on his father’s face, but there was no reasonable way to suggest that the younger men should stay in the room for the entirety of the deal, not when sensitive information was bound to come up.

“Of course,” he replied. “This might take a while—feel free to dine on your own if we’re not finished by then.” He gestured to the door, and Dorian rose with Marcus to leave. Just before closing the door, Dorian looked back and saw the clear look of warning on his father’s face.

Don’t be foolish.

In the hall, Dorian turned toward Marcus, hiding his irritation with a smile. It wasn’t his fault, of course, the way Dorian’s stomach flipped when he looked at the handsome youth. It was just foolishness. Dorian was better than that, certainly.

“Would you mind stepping outside? It’s rather warm in here.” Dorian almost winced—his voice was deep and pleasant. Damn it. This had better pass before the evening’s end. At least he probably wouldn’t have to interact with Marcus again after today.

They walked down the hall and turned out the main door, making for the shade along the tree-lined drive. “Is your father trying to push you into the family business as well?” Marcus asked.

Dorian scoffed. “I’m the sole heir, it’s not like there’s much of an option. Who says I don’t enjoy the thrill of the deal, anyhow?”

“I’d put money that you can’t remember a word that was said for the entirety of that discussion.”

“Ah. Yes.” Dorian made a face. “Most people don’t notice.”

“Most people aren’t paying attention.”

“Are you saying you were watching me?” Dorian said with false indignation. He expected Marcus to deny it, but the young man just shrugged. “What else was there to do?”

Dorian tried to come up with a witty reply, but his throat felt oddly dry. They continued down the walk, skirting around the patches of sun. 

“So you’re not terribly enthusiastic about picking up familial responsibilities either?” Dorian ventured finally. 

Marcus shook his head. “Maybe someday. I just can’t stand the thought of staying in one place for much longer.”

“Your father’s with the trading company. Doesn’t that give you some freedom to travel?”

“Maybe fifty, a hundred years ago, when merchants actually handled their own shipments. Now my father’s just a bureaucrat, sending ships and signing agreements without ever leaving shore. And of course he wants me to follow in his footsteps. It’s just… I don’t know. Everything that he loves about that life just doesn’t feel right for me. But I’m not sure what else I’d do, honestly.”

“Believe me, I understand. I’d give just about anything to get out of this place.”

“Before you came down, your father said you were studying under Gereon Alexius. That’s a great privilege.”

“I know. And it’s wonderful, it really is. But my father is clamoring for me to return back home full-time and start a family.”

“Family? You’re what, twenty-five?”

“Twenty-three.”

Marcus shook his head. “No need to give up hope so quickly. You’ve got years before you have to settle down.”

“It’s not even the settling, it’s…” Dorian trailed off when he realized the dangerous territory he was wandering in to. “Never mind. It’s just strange, feeling so old already.”

Marcus tilted his head to one side to look at him. Dorian noticed the way the patches of light illuminated his curls, turning them almost red, and how the delicate shadows fell beneath his high cheekbones—

That was definitely a blush. He turned away quickly, grateful for his dark complexion. If Marcus noticed anything he didn’t say a word, but the silence continued for a while longer.

Dorian’s frustration with his own foolishness competed with a lightness of heart he hadn’t felt since returning home. Marcus’s company was like a breeze clearing the pall of hollowness and memory that hung over this place, and even if it was only for an evening, perhaps it was worth appreciating while it lasted.


	2. boys are meant to flee

The negotiations were still going on when the sun started falling behind the treetops, so Dorian called for a supper to be brought out to the lawn. He and Marcus settled down on a wide blanket with a loaf of bread and dishes filled with fruit and cheese, as well as copious amounts of wine. The conversation flowed freely now; Dorian couldn’t remember the last time any interaction felt so natural. This must be what it was like for most people, without the constant hiding and the skirting around the truth. He hadn’t mentioned that particular piece of information yet, and it was a small gnawing discomfort in the back of his mind. He wanted to believe that Marcus’s body language and openness was flirtatious, but Dorian knew that was too good to be true. Even if by some bizarre twist of fate he was right, having a friend from a lower class was very different than having that person as a consort, even leaving aside the very large issue of them both being male. Still, as the flush of wine went to his head, he began feeling a nagging urge to tell all to Marcus.

When it was full dark and there was still no word from the house, they stood and began to walk again, both of them on the edge of drunkenness but still unencumbered. They made their way along the side of the manor, traveling away from the front entrance and onto the back lawns. They were talking and laughing about nothing in particular, and Dorian was surprised to find that they had drifted closer together at some point and were walking with hands almost touching.

Dorian looked at Marcus, his eyes barely twinkling in the distant lights from the house, and suddenly his heart fell. This was too much—too far. Somebody was going to get hurt.

“Listen, Marcus, I—” He stopped sharply, realizing he had no idea what he wanted to say. Was he going to break off the conversation? Admit his feelings? Either option sounded painful.

Marcus’s face fell a little. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been at all clear with my intentions.” He stopped walking and turned to face Dorian. “I’ve been beating around the bush all this time, doing nothing more than playing and dropping hints, and for that I’m sorry.”

Dorian’s heart began to beat very fast.

“I know this isn’t at all proper, but I’ve seen the way you look at me and I know—I hope—I’m right about this. I understand if you don’t want to carry on any farther. You’ve got a reputation to maintain, and it matters a lot more for you than for I—”

“Oh, fuck my reputation,” Dorian said suddenly, uncertain when he’d made this decision but sure of his choice. “May I?” 

Marcus nodded, putting up a hand to brush across Dorian’s cheek. Cautiously, Dorian stepped forward and placed his lips on Marcus’s; the man tasted of wine and something sweet and summery. Marcus returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around Dorian and pulling him close. Dorian’s heart flipped with nerves but he did not push Marcus away, melting into the embrace as if he were sliding into cool water.

They remained entwined for several minutes, just outside the circle of light from the house, until Dorian finally drew away, attempting to fix his hair with trembling hands. “Are you alright?” Marcus asked with a note of concern in his voice.

Dorian nodded. “More than alright. It’s just… it feels wonderful to act on these impulses, but I’m afraid of what will come of it. I don’t want to risk jeopardizing your family’s relationship with mine, or…”

Marcus chuckled. “You asked my permission. I gave it. Anything outside that can be someone else’s problem for a while. “

“I just don’t want it to become your problem. I can deal with my father, but I don’t want to put anyone else in danger.”

Marcus looked up at the rising moon. “Listen. You talked about wanting to get away from this place. I want to get away too, and… I’ve been planning. I’ve persuaded my father to let me travel to Fereldan in a month or two, and I was going to stay for a while. It’ll be an adventure.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Come with me.”

Dorian took a step backwards in surprise. “I—I can’t—You’re drunk!”

“No more than you. You’ve got to live a little, at the very least.”

“My father will never forgive me.”

“Would he forgive you otherwise.”

Dorian’s face fell. “I really want to—you have no idea how much this tempts me. But I don’t know. This is all very sudden. I need time to think it over.”

Marcus nodded. “I understand. Here.” He pulled a pen and a scrap of paper out of a pouch around his waist. This is my address. Send me a note once you’ve made a decision. Even if you don’t want to go… maybe I could see you again?”

Dorian smiled. “I’d like that.”

“We should probably go back.” Marcus gestured towards the back door. “I imagine they’re finishing up.” 

As if on cue, the door opened and a slave with a lantern walked out, glancing around for a moment before waving to them. Dorian and Marcus walked slowly, each trying and failing not to look at the other. 

They said polite farewells at the main door, pretending to be only distantly familiar as their fathers shook hands. Dorian touched the slip of paper in his pocket absently as he walked back towards the stairs, inquiring briefly as to the success of the deal before trudging back up to his bedroom. He stripped off the heavy vest and trousers and laid back on his bed in his underclothes, watching the sputtering candlelight on the hangings above him. His mind was still clouded slightly with wine, and his head was spinning with the unexpected turn this evening had taken. He was altogether unused to his attentions being reciprocated, let alone to someone else initiating the conversation. 

 

Dorian was half-asleep when there was a loud knock on the door. He stumbled out of bed, confused and scrambling to put on a dressing gown, and opened the door still in a moderate state of undress. He barely stopped himself from cursing when he saw his father standing there, arms folded over his embroidered coat. Dorian stepped aside to let his father enter, fumbling with the ties of his dressing gown and brushing the hair back from his face. 

“I’m very disappointed in you.” His face was stern. “You’re like a child—you can’t resist your foolishness. Are you ever going to start caring about someone other than yourself?”

Dorian stared down at his hands, a pit opening up in his stomach. He knew. Of course he did; he always knew. There was nothing Dorian could do that wouldn’t find its way back to his father. He’d known it was a terrible idea—why had he kissed Marcus?

It was very difficult not to cry under his father’s furious gaze, but he steeled himself.

“I’ve been a man for a while now. Why can’t you let go of me? Why must you control and second-guess every decision that I make?”

“Because you’re not answering to yourself alone! Your choices affect this entire household. If you know what’s good for us you’ll curb your impulses and make the right choice.”

“How can the right choice be the one that makes me unhappy?”

“Do you think I married your mother for some assheaded notion of love? No! I did it because it was the right choice for this house and I’ll be damned if I let you throw everything we stand for away because of your immaturity.”

“What are you going to do, then?” Dorian didn’t remember when he’d started shouting, but both of their voices were raised.

“I can’t trust you, Dorian.”

“Trust isn’t just doing everything you want me to! Trust is believing that I can make the right choices even when they’re not yours.”

“You’re a fool. I’m sorry that there’s nothing else I can do.”

He looked Dorian in the eye for a long second, then left the room without another word. Dorian sank down and sat on the floor, the tears flowing freely now.


	3. this world is not made for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for familial abuse, blood, injury, and some violence

He picked himself up off the floor eventually, wiping away the tears with frustration. Maybe his father was right—maybe this was all childish fancy. He just couldn’t ignore the feeling of dread that came whenever he imagined the future: it looked like a cage built out of good manners and white lies, and the thought of going into it willingly made him want to scream. But maybe there was no other path.

Dorian considered going back to bed, but the fear in his stomach was still present, so he quietly rummaged around in his trunk for the knapsack he occasionally used to carry around books and papers. There were still a few folded bits of parchment in it, but he tossed those aside. He tucked a simple linen shirt, a pair of trousers, and some clean underclothes inside, then added a pen with ink and some paper on top. He then pulled his purse out of the locked box on his desk and counted through the contents, adding some more coins. His hands shook a little bit, and when he dropped one of the coins on the floor the muffled ring made him wince.

With the purse tucked beneath the clothes and the entire sack buried in the trunk, he finally returned to bed. It was a while longer before his heart slowed enough for him to sleep.

 

The following day was long and quiet. Dorian didn’t leave his room for most of the day, eating his meals at his desk and halfheartedly reading one of the books he’d taken from the library. It was almost insufferably dull, but it was better than staring out the window. The feeling of jumpiness from last night had persisted, and he frequently glanced towards the trunk at the end of the bed, thinking of the pack stashed at the bottom. Just in case. This wasn’t the first time he’d made preparations for running, though he hadn’t ever carried out his plans. Usually these conflicts blew over eventually.

Much to his chagrin, he couldn’t stop thinking about the time he’d spent with Marcus. He kept telling himself it was foolish to even entertain the though of anything coming out of this, but the ridiculous fantasies kept creeping into his mind. Dorian would find himself staring out the window, uncertain of when reading that terrible book had turned into imagining himself walking the shores of some distant coast with Marcus, their bodies close and their laughter swallowed up by the crashing of the waves. He kept the slip of paper face down on the desk next to him, turning it over occasionally and re-reading the address on it until he’d memorized it perfectly. 

It would be a damn fool thing to run away from all this with a boy he barely knew, but maybe it was worth it to do one terribly foolish thing before it was too late. He would need to ask Alexius for some time off first, since that was one relationship he didn’t want to jeopardize. If Alexius was all right with the idea, though… Dorian was surprised to realize that he was seriously considering going through with the plan. His father would be furious, naturally, but Dorian was beginning to doubt if there was any course of action that wouldn’t anger his father given enough time.  
The more he considered it, the more he realized that a chance like this would probably never arise again. Here was a boy who, miraculously, seemed as interested in Dorian as Dorian was in him, and he’d offered the one thing Dorian craved most: an escape. Part of the reason Dorian had never left before is because he’d had nowhere to go that his father couldn’t easily follow. But if he disappeared, even just for a few months, any relationship he reestablished with his father could be on his own terms. It was perfect, really; the only danger was that Marcus would rescind the offer.

 

By the time the sun had set Dorian felt as if he would explode with restlessness and anxiety, and he pulled on his boots with the intention of walking the grounds. Just as he finished with the buckles there was a knock at the door, and at his invitation one of his father’s slaves entered.

“Your father has called you to his study.”

“What for?” Dorian’s heart quickened, but his face remained impassive.

“I honestly don’t know. You’d best come with me, though.”

Dorian frowned, but stood and left the room with the elf woman. The halls were very quiet, and even though it wasn’t unusual for that time of the evening it made him uncomfortable. The sound of his boots on the stone seemed very loud. 

His father’s study wasn’t terribly far from his room, but the walk seemed to take a long time. He knocked on the door himself once they arrived. “Father?”

There was a long pause before his father answered, “Enter.”

Dorian opened the door inside, with the slave following behind him. There were two men inside in addition to his father, both entirely more burly than was common for elves, and he stopped in surprise, narrowing his eyes at his father.

“Shut the door,” his father ordered, and before Dorian could protest one of the men walked behind him and closed the heavy oak door. Dorian attempted to turn around, but the man was too quick, grabbing his shoulders before pinning his arms behind his back. With a yell of protest Dorian struggled, but the second man added his strength to the first, forcing Dorian roughly to his knees.

Eyes watering from the pain, Dorian glared up at his father, trying to not let the fear show in his eyes. “What is this? Let me go.”

His father looked oddly sad. “I wish I could, but you’ve shown me that I can’t trust you to conduct yourself appropriately when you’re not in my sight.”

“What are you planning to do then? Lock me up? You don’t have any other heir!”

“Believe me, I know. But these… desires… of yours—they’re not healthy. I should have done this a long time ago. It would have saved both of us much pain.”

Dorian strained against the men holding him, but they were far too strong. His father beckoned over the woman, who had been standing nervously by the door. Though she was plainly frightened, she moved slowly towards him. As his father turned towards her, Dorian saw a flash of silver at his hip and attempted to cry out, but one of the men holding him covered his mouth. 

His father grabbed the woman by the collar, and she attempted to pull away, but he landed a blow across her cheek that caused her to stumble. He drew the dagger from his belt.

Dorian, panicking, drew on the reserves of magic within himself and lashed out blindly at the men holding him. They were thrown backwards against the walls. Dorian directed his attention to his father, throwing a wall of force against him, but somehow the magical blow turned and knocked Dorian sprawling. His vision blurred as he struck his head on the floor, but the spray of red rising around his father was clear and bright as pain.

Throwing up his defenses Dorian stumbled to his feet and ran, pulling open the door and sprinting down the hall. He almost tripped several times but kept going, the sounds of running feet behind him muffled by the ragged sound of his own breath. He burst into his room and threw the lid off his trunk, pulling out the knapsack, then locked the bedroom door and pulled a cloak off a peg on the wall. 

Dazed, he stood still in the center of the room. There were only two ways out, through the door and through the window, and his father would certainly be through the door any second now. The window was three stories up, but he could break the fall with magic if he could just focus… 

There was a pounding at the door. Heart in his throat, Dorian jumped onto the desk, took one look out the open window, then threw himself out.

For a second everything seemed to vanish in a rush of wind, and he barely managed to slow himself before hitting the ground. Though all the air had been knocked from his lungs he staggered to his feet and started to run towards the treeline. Everything hurt, but nothing seemed broken, although it was becoming very difficult to pin down thoughts for any length of time. 

Everything was very dark under the cover of the trees, and he could barely see well enough to avoid crashing into the gnarled trunks. Luckily the ground was relatively clear of underbrush, so he could half-stumble, half run further into the wood.

Dorian wasn’t sure how long he continued like this. After a while, the only thing keeping him going was the fear still rushing through him and a vague memory of blood. There had been so much of it…

All he could hear was his own breath, hot and angry in his throat. The world seemed to narrow down to the ground just in front of him, and slowly his run turned into a stumble until finally he collapsed among the roots of a tree. The world spun around him and he felt strangely disconnected from his body, as if his senses belonged to someone else.

He lay there until the faintness passed, trying and failing several times to push himself off the ground. There was blood on his clothes, though how much was his was unclear. Gingerly touching the place where his head had hit the ground, he found more blood and a lump the size of his fist, but nothing seemed seriously injured. Dorian knew he would barely be able to move in the morning, but he couldn’t risk falling asleep in the woods and being caught off-guard by the search parties that must already be on their way.

Dorian finally stood up, swaying a little. He had been carrying the cloak until this point, but the night had turned oddly cold, so he threw it around his shoulders, mostly hiding the knapsack. Looking around, he caught sight of a distant light, and so with no better plan in mind he began trudging towards it.

He eventually stumbled through a ditch and onto a road. The moon was visible through the gaps in the leaves, much lower than it had been before, and with a bit of a struggle he managed to work out which direction was east. With any luck, that would get him to the city.


	4. tomorrow is another day and you won't have to hide away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for injury, blood, fainting, vomiting (mention of)

Hours later, with the moon gone and the first glow of dawn tinting the sky before him, Dorian arrived at the city gates. It wasn’t difficult to bribe the guards into letting him inside, but it took longer than he had hoped to find Marcus’s house. When he finally located the place, a large building paneled with dark wood that loomed over a square, he trudged around the back and found a small servant’s door. It took nearly a minute of leaning against the wall to regain enough energy to knock at the door, but thankfully someone was awake to answer. The young woman seemed very alarmed to find a blood-spattered man swaying on the doorstep, but he haltingly convinced her to wake Marcus without alerting the rest of the household.

When Marcus finally came down the stairs into the kitchen, he made a sound like he had been punched in the stomach and stood with his mouth open for a long moment.

“Dorian? What—why are you here? What happened to you? Are you hurt?”

Dorian tried to form a reply, but everything suddenly seemed very strange and far away. The edges of his vision began to fuzz to grey, and he stared blankly at Marcus for a moment before his knees buckled and the world ceased to exist.

 

He slipped in and out of consciousness for a while, moments of light and sound interspersed with emptiness. When he finally managed to make sense of the world around him, he was lying in a bed with morning light—was it still morning?—streaming in through a tall window beside him.

Dorian tried to sit up but quickly realized his mistake, and fell back on the pillows before he passed out again. Someone moved from near the foot of the bed, and Marcus came into his field of vision.

“How are you feeling?”

“Everything hurts and I feel like I’m going to be ill.”

“Could you… avoid doing that in my bed, maybe?”

“Working on it.”

Dorian stared up at the ceiling for a while longer until Marcus finally broke the silence. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened to you?”

“It’s… ah… I…” Dorian took a deep breath, fighting back the tears that had very abruptly begun to resurface. “My father knew. About what happened between us. And he tried… he tried to…” He lost the battle against the tears and begun sobbing on Marcus’s pillow.

Thankfully Marcus did not scoff at Dorian’s lapse, but after a minute Dorian frustratedly cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. “He tried to use blood magic to change me. To snuff out the part of me that prefers the… company of men. He murdered a slave in front of me to do it. She had nothing to do with any of this. There was no reason for it.”

Marcus leaned over to brush the hair from Dorian’s face. “Did he succeed?”

Dorian looked up at him for a moment. “I… don’t think so,” he whispered.

Marcus kissed his hand. “That’s something, at least. Are you feeling any better?”

“I think so.” Dorian cleared his throat again. “What exactly happened to my clothes?”

Marcus laughed, and the sound was like a Chantry bell. “You were covered in blood and dirt and who knows what else. I asked the kitchen slaves for help cleaning you up and tending to your wounds. Your bag and cloak are at the foot of the bed. Your other things are somewhere, but I don’t think they’re suitable for wearing in public at this point.”

“Fair enough.”

“You’re very lucky, you know. My father’s out on business for a few days. With any luck, he’ll never know you were here. I’m curious, though. Why here?”

“I didn’t have a lot of choices. I knew he would expect me to run to Alexius, so I was hoping to buy a little time by coming here. I’m very sorry to bring this on you, but… I need to get out of here for a while. Maybe forever. I understand if you don’t want to go through with the plan you shared with me, especially because we’d have to set out very soon, but at the very least I was hoping I could find a place on one of your father’s ships.”

Marcus bit his lip. “This isn’t how I had planned it, you’re right. But, the way I see it, this probably the best chance I’m going to have to be young and foolish for a while, maybe forever. Let’s do it.”

Dorian was slightly taken aback. “That easily?”

Marcus shrugged. “The captains all know me. I’ve even talked to some of them before about wanting to get away. And if I get the chance to travel with you…” He grinned. 

“That’s a relief, I suppose. I’ll admit I’m surprised, but I’m not going to complain. I can pay my way.”

Marcus’s smile widened. “See? It’s going to be fun! You should probably rest. I’ll start getting things ready—with any luck, we should be out of here by daybreak tomorrow.”

“This is really an incredible relief. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“I’m sure you’ll find some way to pay me back.” He winked and stood up from the bed. 

“Marcus?”

“Yes?”

“Does anyone here know who I am?”

He shook his head. “I pocketed your signet ring. I don’t think any of them got a look at it. They’re good folk, and I don’t think they’d give you away at any rate.”

Marcus left, and Dorian fell asleep almost immediately, nestled under white sheets dappled with the light of the rising sun.


	5. we packed our bags and said farewell

When he opened his eyes again it was dark, and he startled upright with no idea how long he’d been asleep. He winced as every muscle in his body protested the sudden motion, but stayed sitting up this time. The faintness was gone, but his head throbbed and every bruise and scrape clamored for his attention. Dorian crawled to the edge of the bed and stood gingerly.

The room was empty, but a lamp burned in an alcove near the bed. By its flickering light he stumbled over to the foot of the bed, where he found his pack as Marcus had promised. The purse inside was untouched except for the addition of his ring. Marcus was as good as his word.

Dorian pulled out the one change of clothes he had brought along and dressed, making a series of frustrated noises as he struggled to overcome the exhaustion of his limbs. He looked up when he had finished to find that Marcus had entered the room and was sitting on a sofa against the opposite wall.

“I’m glad you finally woke up. I was starting to worry.”

“Shockingly, spending all night running after possibly being concussed and falling out a window will wear you out.”

Marcus winced. “I don’t think you mentioned those details. How does your head feel?”

“Like it got stepped on by a horse. But, you know, a small horse. I’ll be fine. Honestly.” He crossed the floor to sit next to Marcus on the sofa. “How’s the planning been?”

“I found a ship going out tomorrow morning. They’ve got a passenger cabin that they haven’t managed to fill yet, so I asked them to reserve it for us. Told the captain that I decided to take my trip a little earlier than planned because I was traveling with a friend.”

“So I’m a ‘friend’ now?”

“Don’t worry about it. Many of the soldiers aren’t from Tevinter, and things aren’t quite as strict elsewhere. Even if people put two and two together it’ll be the fodder for sailor’s gossip, nothing more. They don’t know who you are, and by the time either of our fathers works out what’s happening we’ll be too far out for them to make contact.”

“Aren’t you worried about what’s going to happen to the captain when your father finds out? Or what your father’s going to do to you?”

Marcus waved his hand dismissively. “The captain knows what he’s getting into, and he’s encouraged me to do this. And don’t worry about me. This is supposed to be fun—an adventure!”

That’s all well and good, Dorian thought, if the threat of blood magic isn’t right behind you.

“I don’t have any clothes besides these,” he said out loud.

“You’re more or less my size, so I’d be happy to lend you some things of mine. It will keep you more inconspicuous too—no offense, but even dragged through the dirt as you are, you look like a lordling. The cut of the shirt, the softness of the fabric: everything points towards you being someone important.”

Dorian made a face. “I’ll take your word for it. I’d prefer not to catch too many eyes on my way out of here.”

“Wise. I’ve been packing a trunk, but there’s plenty of space for you to put some things in there. Come along and have a look at what’s left in my closet.”

 

Packing took longer than expected, and by the time they’d finished Dorian was worn out again. Nothing about the last twenty-four hours seemed quite real, and he found himself walking in a daze. If Marcus was at all apprehensive he did not show it, and his careless enthusiasm made Dorian somewhat hesitant. 

As they climbed the stairs back up to Marcus’s room, Dorian tripped and nearly fell forward, but Marcus caught his arm and steadied him. Looking him in the eyes, the young man placed a hand on Dorian’s cheek. “You look half-dead. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

Dorian headed for the couch once they had entered, but Marcus stopped him. “No. You’re still recovering. You can’t go sleeping there.”

“You’re already doing enough for me. I don’t want to take your bed away from you too.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not that long before we have to wake up again anyways.”

Too tired to argue, Dorian climbed into bed fully clothed. Before falling asleep he glanced over at the couch, where Marcus was stretched out with eyes closed. His curls tumbled across the green fabric and his chest rose and fell gently. Dorian felt a twisting in his stomach and for a moment regretted that he had not suggested Marcus share the bed with him, but he was too nervous to bring it up now. 

 

Dorian woke to his shoulder being shaken, and he sat up abruptly and shoved away the hands, heart suddenly racing. It was only Marcus, who had apparently taken a step back after Dorian’s violent reaction.

“Sorry,” he said, holding his hands up apologetically.

“It’s… sorry, it’s just been a weird few days.”

“We need to get going quickly, come on.” Marcus gestured urgently. The trunk was already gone from the center of the room.

Dorian stumbled out of bed and winced. His body still ached, though the pain in his head had thankfully subsided. His clothes were terribly rumpled, but there was nothing for him to change in to, so he blearily pulled on his boots and wrapped the cloak around his shoulders. All the bloodstains appeared to have been cleaned off.

“Have you got anything to eat? I’m starving,” Dorian mumbled as they headed down the stairs.

“Oh, shit, I suppose you haven’t had anything to eat in the last day. Hold on.” Marcus called to a slave as they reached the bottom of the stairs, and by the time they were at the front door someone had returned with a small parcel. 

“Come on, it’s not far,” Marcus said, pointing down the street. The light was still grey, and a mist lay over the buildings like a pale blanket. Dorian trailed slightly behind, gnawing on some bread he’d extricated from the package of food. The docks were only a few streets away, as promised, and ahead of them he saw two people loading Marcus’s oversized trunk onto a large ship. 

“Beautiful, eh?” Marcus grinned.

Despite all the hours he’d spent reading dull books in his father’s library as a child, Dorian had never acquired any knowledge about ships or sailing, but he voiced his agreement anyhow. The ship was very imposing, many-masted and emblazoned with the sun and stars of the Imperium-Fereldan Shipping Company. Marcus let Dorian board first, which might have been an error, since Dorian’s already-exhausted legs grew even weaker as he stood high above the open water. 

They made it onto the deck of the ship eventually, where Dorian was briefly introduced to the captain, a tallish and surprisingly slight man who appeared to be in his late forties. The captain was far too busy to speak for long, so Dorian and Marcus continued onward to their cabin. Most of the small space was taken up by the large trunk, but there was a narrow path leading to the bunk bed. Dorian immediately sat down on the lower bunk, exhaling slowly.

“Aren’t you going to watch the launch?” Marcus asked, folding his arms.

“Give me a chance to rest my legs at least.”

Marcus closed the door. “I suppose we won’t need your legs for a little while at least.” He walked the few steps over to Dorian and sat straddle on his lap, kissing him with an enthusiasm that surprised Dorian. After a moment, Dorian wrapped his fingers in Marcus’s hair and returned the kiss, nearly knocking Marcus off the narrow bed. They both laughed as they wrapped their bodies more tightly around each other.

They very nearly missed the launch, stumbling out of the cabin a little red-faced and ruffled to watch the shores of Tevinter fade into the mists behind them.


	6. we threw our hearts into the sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for mention of vomiting, as well as nonexplicit sexual contact (they are NOT related i promise).
> 
> sorry it's so terribly short, as it turns out sex scenes are not my forte.

The mist dissipated soon after they left shore, and the morning sun sparkled on the sea so brightly that Dorian had to avert his eyes. He retired back into the hold after a short while after he began feeling seasick, though Marcus protested and tried to convince him to stay on deck. Dorian had convinced a grudging Marcus to lend him a few books to take along on the journey, and he opened one of them, but he was feeling too ill and out of sorts to focus for long and so he closed his eyes. He woke up some hours later feeling disoriented but less nauseous, and blearily stumbled back out into the sunlight to find Marcus standing at the rail and watching the movement of the sea.

“Back from being dull?” he asked cheerily.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “I’m sure I would have been much better company had I been throwing up over the side.”

Marcus made a dismissive sound. “Well, I’m glad you’re better now, I suppose. Come walk with me.”

He and Dorian slowly traveled the length of the deck, chatting mindlessly. Occasionally Dorian would stumble after misjudging the rolling of the ship, and each time Marcus would catch his elbow to steady him. The first time it was adorable, but by the third Dorian was starting to become irritated at his inability to stay upright on his own. The next time it happened he pushed Marcus’s arm away, only to fall to his knees with a distinct lack of dignity. Pretending it hadn’t hurt, Dorian pushed himself up, ignoring the hand Marcus proffered. 

“What was that about?” Marcus asked quietly as they kept walking.

“What?” Dorian asked, feigning ignorance and ignoring the flush creeping up his neck.

Marcus rolled his eyes but didn’t investigate further.

Pride rather more bruised than his knees, Dorian did not speak for a while, but Marcus’s excitement was difficult to ignore. They sat next to each other near the prow, watching the ship cut through the open water and speaking of small things. The day seemed to rush by as quickly as the wispy clouds above them, and only when the sky turned orange and yellow did either of them realize they were quite hungry. There was still bread and cheese in the package they’d brought along that morning, and they retreated back to the cabin to eat.

They were mostly done with the meal when Dorian set the piece of bread he was eating back down on the surface of the trunk and slowly looked up at Marcus. A heady feeling of anticipation had been plaguing him for most of the supper, but he had remained silent, uncertain of how to act and concerned that the feeling was not reciprocated. Marcus caught his gaze almost immediately and smirked, cocking his head to the side and brushing a loose curl out of his face. 

Dorian began to rise but then paused, and Marcus grinned wider. “Don’t be shy.”

Dorian smiled back for a moment before pushing himself onto the trunk to kiss Marcus, scattering the remains of their meal. He pulled Marcus close, relishing the way the boy relaxed into his arms. He remained perched on the trunk for a while, but soon the way Marcus moved under his hands turned from leisurely to hungry and Dorian pushed him gently backwards and onto the bed. The feeling of Marcus’s body stretched beneath his own was sweet and exhilarating.

He felt as if he was losing parts of himself in the swell of sensation and emotion, but they seemed irrelevant, meaningless. It was surprisingly easy to let go of the fear and confusion that had followed him closely over the past few days, to wrap himself in the moment. Marcus was excited but gentle, careful to ensure he did not push Dorian further than he was comfortable, and they explored the contours of each other’s bodies with tenderness and care. 

It was not all as smooth and natural as he had imagined—there were mishaps, bumped elbows and overeager kisses—but the laughter that followed these lapses eased any potential discomfort. This felt real, somehow, in a way nothing had for longer than Dorian had realized. Their bodies moved in tandem, sensing and responding, their motions mirroring the rocking of the ship on the calm sea. 

The aftermath was filled with slow breaths and lazy kisses. They were both far too warm, but neither wanted to pull himself away from the other, so Dorian stayed pressed against Marcus’s side, head against the boy’s shoulder. Marcus fell asleep first, but Dorian stayed awake for a while longer, relishing the simple pleasure of feeling his bare skin against another. Slowly, the rolling of the ocean drew him into slumber as well, and they did not stir until the first rays of sun crept through the narrow window.


	7. is there any chance you could see me too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for alcohol, very slight breach of consent

The days at sea faded into a sun-washed blur of laughter, joy, and a not-insignificant amount of sex. When Dorian was with Marcus—and the moments where he wasn’t were few—the anger and resignation he’d been carrying with him seemed to dissipate. Marcus was as bright and warm as the sun on the sea ahead of them, and Dorian felt almost drunk on his company.

They were sitting on the deck when the shores of Fereldan finally emerged from the hazy horizon. The sailors spotted it before Dorian, and he turned to Marcus in confusion as the deck began to mill with activity. Marcus pointed out over the sea, and when Dorian saw the dark ripple of coastline his heart filled with a strange melancholy. It felt like waking up to the first rainfall after a dry summer, in the early dark of heavy clouds.

Marcus must have seen the change of his expression, because he put a hand on Dorian’s shoulder and asked, “What is it? Is something wrong?”

Dorian shook his head, looking away. “It’s nothing.”

“Come on. We won’t even be docked at Amaranthine till tomorrow. They’re taking us through the islands tonight.”

“It really isn’t… it’s fine.”

“You look like a storm cloud. Come on, back to the cabin. I know how to cheer you up.”

Dorian followed along, but this time nothing Marcus did could quite banish the sense that he was losing hold of something important.

 

Dark clouds swallowed up the sun before it set, traveling quickly over the sea and enveloping the ship. They brought heavy rains and thunder, and the sea began to toss the ship harshly. Dorian could not sleep, and reading only made the seasickness worse, so he sat and watched the rain striking the window by the weak light of a lamp. Marcus was curled in bed with the sheets thrown over his head, and after a while he pushed himself up and said groggily, “Come to bed, Dorian.”

“I can’t sleep. The storm makes me… nervous.”

“It’ll be fine! The sailors know what they’re doing. They’ll carry us through safely.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be passing through the islands now? What if we run aground?”

“Dorian.” Marcus looked at him in irritation. “You’re being ridiculous. Put out that light and come to bed.”

“I—“

“You’re being an ass. Come on.”

Dorian looked at the lamp for a long moment before extinguishing it and joining Marcus. Though he wrapped himself around Marcus, the touch felt strangely stiff and artificial, and it was a while longer before he finally managed to fall asleep.

 

The storm passed without incident, and they spent the morning repacking the trunk and tidying the cabin. The ship docked before midday, and Dorian and Marcus set out to find an inn and a bite to eat. Much to Marcus’s chagrin, Dorian kept stopping to look at houses and shops. Everything was oddly different here, in small ways Dorian could barely identify. The architecture was broader and more rustic, and there were fewer windows in the houses. The streets were cobbled with small stones rather than massive slabs, and everything seemed slightly duller and more subdued. There were several inns near the docks, but Marcus was picky, and it took them a while to locate one he approved of. Dorian paid a few of the inn’s staff to pick up the trunk, and once they’d been sent off he and Marcus sat down at one of the heavy wooden tables to eat.

“We need to work out plans,” Dorian said as their lunches arrived.

Marcus shrugged, picking up a tomato and inspecting it with some skepticism. “I figured we could spend a few days here, then maybe travel around a little more. We could hire a carriage, visit Highever or Denerim perhaps? I don’t see why you’re so uptight about it.”

“Money isn’t limitless, nor is time! I can’t afford to go inn-hopping and traveling about Fereldan indefinitely, and eventually you’re… eventually you’re going to have to go back.” Dorian scoffed in frustration.

Something in Marcus’s expression changed. “So you’re not actually going back to Tevinter.”

“No! I should have thought that would be obvious!”

Marcus sighed, but his momentary somberness passed and he laughed. “All the more reason to make the most of it while we’re still together, then!”

He went on talking about some unimportant thing, but Dorian found it very hard to pay attention.

 

They walked around the city some more after lunch, and Dorian forgot his previous frustration, though his interactions with Marcus still did not feel as fluid and natural as they had on the ship. Amaranthine was pleasant enough, though it lacked the sparkle and grandeur to which Dorian was accustomed. They stopped by the ship once more to thank the captain, and Dorian paid what remained of the fee for his passage. His purse was significantly emptier than it had been when they started, though he had enough to live comfortably for a while at least.

That night they discovered that, despite the mediocrity of the food, the inn had a very fine selection of ales and liquors. There hadn’t been much to drink on the ship, and Marcus was very enthusiastic about trying what the inn had to offer. Dorian had a mug of ale, which didn’t appeal to him as much as wine but was at least palatable, and watched with a mixture of respect and growing apprehension as Marcus finished several drinks in quick succession. He began to speak enthusiastically with some of the other patrons of the inn, and Dorian gritted his teeth as he started sharing anecdotes about Tevinter and their journey here.

Before Marcus could share any compromising information about Dorian’s past, Dorian resigned stood and pulled him aside. “You are far too drunk. You need to go to bed before you lose your purse or start singing something bawdy.”

“What are you, my father?” His words slurred.

“I’m your friend. Just… fucking listen to me this one time, all right?” He hadn’t meant the hurt to show in his voice, but Marcus was too drunk to notice.

“Oh, I see. You want me to head back to the room. With you.” He laughed loudly. Dorian sighed and grabbed him by the elbow, leading him out of the room and up the stairs. Marcus nearly fell on his face twice before Dorian finally got him into the room they were sharing.

Almost as soon as Dorian had closed the door, Marcus pressed his body against him and started kissing him. He stank of alcohol, and Dorian pushed him away. “No! Stop it. I’m not doing anything with you while you’re like this.”

Marcus began to protest, but Dorian gave him a cold stare, and he sheepishly bowed his head. Dorian helped him to the bed and then leaned against the wall, letting the tears flow quietly down his face.


	8. whatever i feel for you

Dorian rose early the next morning, leaving Marcus sprawled across the bed. The inn was still except for the owner, who was wiping off the bar when Dorian came downstairs. She nodded to him curtly. “Anything I can get for you?”

“Do you have coffee?”

She shook her head. “We’ve got tea, though.”

“That would be lovely.”

Dorian sat at the bar, rubbing his temples tiredly. He hadn’t slept well last night, and though the sadness was mostly gone he still felt hollow. He wasn’t certain exactly what had set him off; being around drunk people had never seemed particularly upsetting, and it wasn’t as if a few nights of poor choices hadn’t led him to behave as inappropriately as Marcus had. It was just that there had been a moment where Marcus had looked into Dorian’s eyes but seemed to be looking past him. Dorian had spent too many years seeing people stare through him as if there was nothing there.

The owner returned with a cup of tea and a scone on a wooden plate, setting them down before returning to cleaning the bar. Dorian took a sip of the tea. “Listen… I’m sorry for my friend’s behavior last night.”

She shrugged. “Young men are fools—no offense, of course.”

He laughed quietly. “None taken.”

“I saw the way you look at him. I know he’s near to your heart.”

Dorian tried to protest, but she held out a hand. “No need to be embarrassed. Just be careful. Boys like him have a hard time seeing past the end of their noses, so when you’re not kissing ‘em they may forget you’re around.” She chuckled.

After finishing his breakfast in silence, Dorian left to walk about the city. The shops were just beginning to open their doors, and the smells of baking bread and cooking meat spilled out into the street. The ship that had carried them here was already gone, but the docks bustled with activity, and Dorian sat for a while watching sailors load and unload cargo. 

When he finally returned to the room, Marcus was awake but very hungover, and he grunted blearily at Dorian without looking up. Dorian sat on the bed beside him and rubbed his back gently, feeling guilty for having been so harsh on him. He brought Marcus a cup of water from the jug on the bedside table, but it took him a while to persuade him to drink it.

Dorian spent the rest of the day sitting downstairs in the inn with a book, occasionally checking up on Marcus, who didn’t shamble down the stairs until dinner. He still looked like hell, but he was steady on his feet and had managed to brush his hair. They ate in relative silence, and though Dorian bought an ale Marcus refused the offer of a drink.

When they had returned to their room after eating, Dorian laced his fingers and hesitantly said, “Listen, about last night…”

Marcus groaned. “Don’t remind me. I honestly don’t remember a whole lot of it.”

Dorian was about to say something testy, but he stopped short. Marcus’s face was haggard and blank; he honestly didn’t realize how he’d made Dorian feel, and Dorian couldn’t bring himself to explain. He bit his lip and looked down at his hands.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a drudge all day,” Marcus said. “Can I make it up to you?”

Dorian hesitated before agreeing, and Marcus kissed him softly on the lips before gently pushing him backwards onto the bed. He tasted sweet and the press of him was like cool water, but Dorian could not shake the biting emptiness in the back of his mind, even as they lay close together with the sheets thrown off in spite of the chill breeze from the open window.

 

They spent another two days in Amaranthine, enjoying the sights and planning the next leg of their journey. Despite his enthusiasm, Marcus proved somewhat lackluster at actually making plans, and so Dorian made the majority of the arrangements, with Marcus tagging along like a talkative puppy. After some brief arguing they decided to carry on to Denerim, with the reasoning that if there was one place in Fereldan that was not a dismal pile of wood and stone it was most likely there.

The size of their trunk necessitated that they find someone with a cart, and after a day of wandering around the city they located a company of travelers, led by an ex-military captain who seemed reliable if curt. There was no one else from Tevinter in the party, though there was an Orlesian woman journeying with her cousin. 

Dorian could not bring himself to stay frustrated at Marcus, not when every smile and laugh Marcus granted him made him flush with happiness. They set out from Amaranthine under a heavy layer of clouds, but Dorian barely noticed the darkness. They rode on rented horses side by side, near the back of the party, and occasionally Marcus would glance over at him and Dorian would grin back foolishly. The days were long and Dorian could barely walk after spending all day riding, but he was carried forward by the giddy pleasure of Marcus’s company.

On the second night, as he struggled to get comfortable lying on the rough ground, he looked over at Marcus sleeping just beyond the reach of his arms. The boy's hair glowed in the light of the dying campfire, and Dorian realized with surprise that somewhere on their journey he had managed to fall in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this took me so long to write, and also that it is rather short. if you read this for the angst, fear not: things are gonna go to shit real soon.


	9. you ought to know the truth

They traveled along the coastline, sometimes so near to the ocean that Dorian could hear the waves at night. Even when it was not drizzling the air was heavy with moisture, and Dorian began to feel as if he’d never be properly dry again. The weather was thankfully otherwise mild, and their traveling partners were nice enough, if a little dull. It was frustrating to not be able to sleep with Marcus despite his proximity, but it was probably wise to keep up appearances at least a little. He hadn’t expected to hear those words in his own mind, and sometimes the voice that spoke them sounded uncomfortably like his father’s.

Marcus seemed more distant too, though it might just have been a response to Dorian’s discomfort with public physical affection. He was speaking to Dorian less, and when he was not subdued he was irritable. He pulled Dorian into the woods for a brief kiss once or twice, but that was it. Perhaps the long days of riding and the nights spent on the hard ground were wearing on him.

With the shift in Marcus’s behavior, Dorian had plenty of time alone with his thoughts. He could not stop turning his feeling for Marcus over in his mind, picking at them and rationalizing and trying to work out why he was so compelled to share everything. Every time he looked at Marcus he felt a pang of something almost like guilt, mixed with the impulse to confess his feelings at once. But there was no proper time for it, not when they were traveling with other people, and he was too nervous to pull Marcus aside. So he kept glancing at Marcus, smiling every time he broke the silence, and laying awake long into the night trying to fit words together that could explain half of what he felt.

He was grateful when they finally arrived in Denerim, not least because it offered relief from the damp and chill. The party came through the gates just before they closed for the night, and Marcus and Dorian rushed to find an inn ahead of the swiftly falling night. Dorian paid for a room and someone to carry their trunk, noticing with dismay how much emptier his purse had become. 

The inn was nothing remarkable. They hadn’t had much opportunity to be choosy. It was warm and dry, and there were no bugs in the sheets, so Dorian supposed he could deal with the low ceilings and smoke-filled common area. He brought up a bit of food from the kitchen while Marcus settled in upstairs. They stretched out on the bed to eat, bread and cheese spread out between them, and for the first time in days Marcus was his usual animated self.

Dorian didn’t even care what they were talking about; just having Marcus laughing and chatting again made him feel almost like he’d had too much to drink. When Marcus kissed him over their meal he felt flushed and foolish again, just like it had been before. Everything was going to be all right.

His coat and shirt were already on the floor when “There’s something I need to tell you” fell out of his mouth between kisses. Marcus raised an eyebrow playfully. “And what would that be?”  
Dorian pulled back slightly, all of the words he’d carefully chosen gone. “Listen. I know that you’re going back someday—and I understand if…” He took a deep breath. “Every day I’ve spent with you has been golden. I haven’t ever felt this… What I’m trying to say is that I love you.”

The words hung in the air for a long moment. Dorian reached a hand tentatively towards Marcus, but he did not move, his face completely blank. Suddenly everything felt too quiet, too warm; there was a rushing in Dorian’s ears.

“No,” Marcus finally whispered, pushing Dorian’s hand away. “This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.”

“What?” Dorian’s voice broke and he stood, backing away from the bed. “I don’t understand.”

“You can’t do this. Don’t do this to me, Dorian.”

Dorian’s mouth was open but he could not think of anything to say.

“Are you really such a child? How can you not know what would come of love?” He rose and stood facing Dorian, just beyond arm’s reach. “For people like us, passion lives behind closed doors. You can’t let it matter or it will destroy you. I trusted you to know that.”

“But everything you said—”

“That we’d run? That we’d have an adventure together? The thing about adventures is that you come home afterwards. They end. All of this is going to end and then what are you going to do with your love?” His voice was raised now, and there was a cold fire in his eyes.

Dorian looked at him and felt something snap deep inside him. “I put everything I was out in the light for you. Not for some childish idea of an adventure. For you. After everything you’ve done for me, I really thought I might mean something to you.”

“Of course you mean something. But it’s not love, Dorian, and it never will be. I don’t know where you went astray, but there’s nothing I can do for you now.” He sat back on the bed. “I really wish you would have just left it the way it was.”

“You and I have a very different idea of how things were before.” Dorian picked up his shirt, grabbed his purse off the table by the door, and walked out while still doing up the buttons. He felt heads turn as he walked through the crowded common space, but he looked down and kept moving, letting the door slam shut behind him. 

The streets were dark and empty and Dorian walked without caring which direction he went. He kept waiting for the sound of feet on the stones behind him, for Marcus to call out for him to come back, but when he finally turned around there was no one there. The moon was a pale blur behind thin clouds, and the night was chill. He had forgotten to bring his coat.

He sat against a wall and cried for some time, but deep down all he felt was emptiness. Nothing seemed quite real. Perhaps nothing had been real for a while now. He wondered when he’d fallen into this dream of brightness that he’d been chasing. The evening spent in the gardens of his father’s home seemed like a lifetime ago. He’d wanted to believe that there was something besides emptiness in his future, but it had all been a great lie he’d told himself. This was what came of foolishness.

He should have let his father complete the blood magic he’d begun.

 

Eventually he rose and started stumbling back towards the inn, but the streets were labyrinthine and he couldn’t remember the path he’d taken. By the time he made it to the door he was chilled to the bone, but when he tried to open it he found it locked. There was nothing but darkness through the small window. 

Exhausted and broken, he huddled in an alleyway, futilely trying to cover his face with the collar of his shirt. He barely managed to spend the small amount of magic it took to secure his purse, and he fell asleep almost immediately against the cold stone.

**Author's Note:**

> In progress and currently updating. The schedule is sort of up in the air but new chapters are going up at least once a week, if not more frequently. I welcome feedback. If you think there's anything I should tag that I haven't, let me know.


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